


I'm back, with scars to show

by Acin_Grayson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28174275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acin_Grayson/pseuds/Acin_Grayson
Summary: Back with the streets I know will never take me anywhere but here
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22
Collections: friday fab fic five song prompt spectacular fills





	I'm back, with scars to show

**Author's Note:**

> thanks again to Haz in the LS server for the song rec! this week it’s _left and leaving_ \- the weakerthans

“Welcome back, Bruce,” the head of the group home greets.

He’s not actually convinced his name is Bruce (it doesn't quite sit right, but it was the only thing he said for a solid month after he woke up in the hospital, so the social worker made that his name instead of John Doe or something) he calls himself B, more often than not.

Sam doesn’t like nicknames, though. Says they’re not ‘proper.’

He waves hello and asks what’s for dinner. They talk amiably for a bit, B breaks it off to run upstairs and grab a shower. After nabbing a towel from the room he shares with Mateo, he triple checks that the bathroom door is locked before stripping.

He doesn't spend a lot of time shirtless for one very specific reason.

Even in Gotham, people tend to stare when there’s a damn  _ autopsy scar. _

B thinks it’s a bit fucked up that nobody really questions the plethora of  _ other  _ wounds he’s apparently endured, but that's just Gotham for you.

Dinner is pleasant, if chaotic. Mateo and Jonny get in a fight over a girl, again. Charlie demands to know what a certain cuss word means, being a ten year old who’s somehow never heard ‘twat’ before. Sam has to leave earlier than usual for a long shift, kissing her husband Thomas on the cheek before bidding them all a good evening.

That night sleep evades him, as it tends to, so he lurks his way out the front door. It’s not hard to sneak out, Thomas sleeps like the dead, Sam usually works nights, and Mateo’s never ratted him out. B is also exceptionally good at sneaking.

B wanders until he’s walking the streets of Crime Alley, deja vu nipping at his every step.

He’s not supposed to go into this part of town, Thomas and Sam say it’s dangerous, but B feels at home on the dirty streets of the city proper.

If he concentrates really hard, he can almost swear he remembers things about this part of town. He gets little nudges, from the back of his brain, about which shitty takeout places to avoid, which corner stores are safe. Once, his aimless wandering left him standing in front of a diner that had his mouth watering by instinct.

Now, he visits nearly weekly.

Molly’s looked like shit on the outside, but the food was to  _ die  _ for.

The false wood of the booth seat he slipped into was chipped and scratched. It felt right, familiar. He always chose the seat next to the corkboard of ‘famous visitors. The only  _ really  _ famous person on there is Robin. The rest are just regulars.

Molly herself was working third shift, that night, gracing B with a warm smile when he entered. She took his order and made light conversation. They talked about the troubles of school, B a junior in high school and Molly relaying her daughter’s troubles with college.

It's when she heads back to the open kitchen that there’s a problem.

The over-the-door bell tinkles, heralding the arrival of another customer. Not unheard of, but rare this time of night. 

The guy doesn't take more than three seconds to pull a gun. He screams at Molly to open the register, waving the pistol around like he doesn’t know where to point it.

B was vaulting over the table before he realizes what he’s doing.

Molly hasn't even fully raised her hands by the time B has knocked the gun to the floor with a swift kick he hadn't known he was capable of.

The man didn't hesitate, though, pulling a knife and slashing while B was still standing there, surprised by his own actions.

B didn’t cry out at the pain, just swiped the guy’s hand aside and punches him out. He thought he felt a tooth give. 

“Oh my god, kid! Are you okay?”

He shakes out his hand, wondering at how  _ familiar  _ the sore knuckles feel. “Yeah.”

  
  


“Jesus, kid, what the hell was that? You some kind of ninja or some shit?”

“Uh, no,” he said on instinct. “Just good at protecting myself.” The pain started to set in as the adrenaline faded. 

“Oh! You’re bleeding!“

“Oh,” and he realized that he was. Pretty badly, at that. There's a deep cut on his forearm, nearly four inches long.

“You gonna go to the Doc for that?”

“Like a hospital? No way, I can’t afford that. Plus my fosters are gonna be pissed that I was in this area anyway.”

“Nah, I meant Doc Thompkins. She’s not far from here, runs a free clinic. Discrete.”

B considers. “Give me directions?”

Molly’s directions end up being pretty vague, B finds his way there half by instinct.

Like Molly's, it’s a run-down looking place but the inside’s pretty cozy.  A nurse checks him in, gives him some gauze to press on the wound while he waits in a tiny examination room.

“Alright, ‘B’,” the doctor says, entering some five minutes later. “Here for a knife wound?”

Thompkins looks up from her clipboard and pales like she’s seen a ghost. 

“Jason,” she whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> busted this out in approximately three hours? kinda proud of myself.
> 
> idk if i'll continue this one, so I'm marking it finished for now.
> 
> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
